


Moment of Truth

by NightwingsAngel



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Post-City of Ashes, Pre-City of Fallen Angels, Pre-City of Heavenly Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightwingsAngel/pseuds/NightwingsAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus Bane dreams of his past and wakes up in a fit because of it. Alec tries to comfort him the best he can, despite still feeling awkward with their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fan fiction a long time ago. I think before the City of Fallen Angels even came out. So, not everything in it lines up with the tid-bits of Magnus' past that we find out about later on down the line.

"Poor thing. Now that you know the truth, you can never go back." 

Those words, spoken in the time of gas lamps and stone streets, were easily recalled by the High Warlock of Brooklyn. It had been years, decades even, since those words had come from his mouth and, yet, their memory was fresh. 

Sometimes,in the quietest moments, when he was lazily petting his cat or gazing upon his lover, he would be taken back to London. Back to the time when he had spoken those words to a fellow warlock, shortly after she had discovered what truly ran through her blood. 

His words had been truthful, but he hadn't known that they would attach themselves to his reoccurring nightmare. No! Nightmare wasn't the correct term. The events he saw when he fell into slumber's claws were too real to be considered nightmares. They were the remnants of a dark day that had changed his life. In all of his years, he hadn't encountered a day that had shook him so much as that one had. It had been the day he had learned the truth; the day he went from being a normal boy to being feared by all.

He could barley recall the innocence he had before that dreadful day. Only small flashes of a farm and warm arms spoke of a child of innocence. That day, which he could remember clearly among the broken memories of his long life, spoke of loss and destruction.

The warlock, dressed only in a pair of silk sleep pants and leaning against the frame of his bedroom window, couldn't stop the wave of emotions that crashed over him at the thought of that day. With his hair limp, void of all glitter and hair products, and his face lacking his beloved makeup, he was looking as close as he could to the child he once was. 

Despite having the body of a nineteen-year-old, his main features had remained the same throughout the years. His ears were still pointed, his teeth sharp, his stomach navel free, and his eyes still a golden-green copy of a feline's, but who he was had changed. Partially because of the day that brought him into the world of angels and demons, but partially because of the hundreds of years he had spent on the earth. He had, quite literally, seen centuries come and go. He had seen many 'friends' die. Each decade he lived through left its mark on him. Even in the 21st century he still carried habits of the 19th and 17th .

Habits can die off, though, unlike the one thing that remained with him through it all. They can be forgotten where his magic could not. It had been his magic that had thrust him into the world of the supernatural. It had been on that horrid day, so long ago, on a farm, that he reached his point of no return. 

As Magnus closed his cat eyes, blocking out the noise of early morning Brooklyn, images overtook him, and soon he was no longer in his apartment but on a little farm in Indonesia. 

"Mama! Mama!" he remembered calling as he ran across a field. 

The green grass was nearly as tall as him, forcing his small eyes to strain to see over it. His child body hurled itself through the field, pushing the tall thick vegetation aside. Fallen grass snapped under his feet as he hurried to be free from its home's hold. 

He had just come from the village, after delivering the basket of bread his mama had packed for a sick friend, and was in dire need of his mama's arms. On his way out of the village, he had come across a group of older boys. His skin bore the marks of their thrown stones and his mind bore the ones of their words. 

"Demon!" They had screamed every time they saw him. "You don't belong here spawn of satan!"

The rocks they threw hurt, but their words cut deeper. They screamed what the villagers believed. All of them, even his mama's friends, looked at him as if he was evil incarnated. He didn't understand why they were so mean to him. He hadn't done anything to them. He was a good boy; mama said so. 

As if the boys hadn't been enough, he had to also face the village Priest on his way home. The plump old man had waged a finger at him as he passed. From his lips tumbled a prayer of exorcism. 

"Be gone demon child!" he had snarled. "May your life be short and your soul condemned!" 

Magnus had seen the deaths of others accused of being demon children and knew the Priest wanted to burn him at the stake, just like he had done to the little witch girl the villagers had discovered a month before. The thought that all the villagers agreed with the old man was enough to make him afraid of leaving the farm. 

Hot tears streaked the child's face, as he exited the field and ran for the barn. Mama loved the barn and he knew she'd be there. He needed her to wipe away the tears and reassure him of his humanity. 

"Mama!" he cried as he reached for the giant barn door. He could taste his tears on his lips. Salt and snot dripped on his mouth and he sniffled as he wretched the old door open. Wiping his nose on him sleeve, he prepared himself to run into his mama's arms. He was ready for the soft words and peppered kisses. What he wasn't ready for was the sight that met his strange eyes. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. His mother, the one who had always comforted him, was swinging from the rafters. Her skin was pale and her dark hair covered her face. A rope was around her neck and her feet were three feet from the hay covered ground. Magnus may have been young but he was old enough to know that life had left her. 

"Mama?"

Thinking back on it, Magnus chided himself for not being prepared for such a scene. He had known something had been wrong since the villagers had started to question his heritage. Hurt had made it's way into his mother's brown eyes as she had begun to distance herself from him. Of course, he hadn't realized that when he was small. He hadn't even thought the village whispers could be true. How naïve he had been. How innocent for a child, especially a child of his kind. 

"You!" Magnus remembered feeling his 'daddy' grab his shoulder. He had been roughly pushed towards his mother as the man who had raised him stared at him with eyes of hell fire. 

"You did this!" the man pointed to his wife. "This is all your fault, demon!"

At first, Magnus hadn't known what was happening. His daddy was forcing him out the barn, roughly pulling him away from his mama and towards the river that cut through their property. 

"Daddy, you're hurting me!" Magnus struggled to free his tiny wrist from the tight grip of his daddy. 

"Come on, boy!" his daddy pushed him towards the river.

Magnus fell on his knees in the muddy water -the rough rocks at the bottom cutting into him -and then wave after frightful wave washed over him. Air became nonexistent as his daddy forced his head beneath the rushing water. Small limbs flailed; kicking and reaching for some sort of lifeline. Blindly, he searched for something to hold on to so he could pull himself from the water. Any scream he gave was masked by the chilly liquid as the dirty substance made its way into his lungs. 

He remembered wondering why his daddy was hurting him and thinking he didn't want to die. Then he recalled feeling, for the first time, as power surged through him. Blue sparks emitted from his fingers, lighting up the water as he felt something in him snap. The barrier between innocence and knowledge gave way as his daddy screamed. The hands holding him down were gone. Pulling himself from the water, he watched in horror as the man who had taken care of him, up until then, was consumed by hungry blue flames. 

With both his mama and 'daddy' dead, he ran. There would be no refuge for him in the village. Everyone already feared him and he, himself, had started to see their fears as rational. If it hadn't been for the Silent Brothers he was sure he would have died shortly after his parents. A child with the magic of a great demon wouldn't live long if they weren't shown how to control their curse. Their magic could consume them, if they weren't careful. 

He remembered the first time he had seen the Silent Brothers and how afraid he had been. With their hollow eyes and stitched up mouths, they were something of a nightmare. Yet, they had been the ones to help him. They had shown him the way of the world of demons and angels. They had told him who he was. 

"Warlock," the one who had taken him in had spoke in Magnus' mind. "The child of a demon and a human."

It was then he was given his name. 

"Your name is Magnus Bane."

"How suiting," the present Magnus mused quietly. "Of course the old brother would choose a name suiting my situation."

How suiting, indeed. The Silent Brother, who he would always consider more of a father than his true one and the man who had been married to his mother, knew what he was doing when he had named the child that had wandered into his care.

Magnus Bane, Great Poison. How truly fitting for it was the knowledge of his parentage that was the great poison which killed his innocence. How even more fitting that he was considered a great poison to Nelphilim, Mundanes, and some Downworlders. Well, most Nelphilim. There was one that truly loved him. One Nelphilim that made him feel like he wasn't a freak. 

"Magnus?" his Nelphilim lover called from their bed. The sun was beginning to show it's face and Alec would be sneaking into the institute soon, where he would prepare for his duties as a Shadowhunter and then return to the apartment during the latest hours. 

"What is it, darling?" Magnus moved to sit next to his boyfriend.

"You're up early," Alec observed as he rubbed at tired eyes and tossed black bangs out of his vision. His observation was correct. The warlock wasn't a morning person and would often still be asleep when Alec left. Some days he wouldn't even roll out of bed until around two in the afternoon. It all depended on when clients showed up. Which all depended on when he felt like seeing them.

"I couldn't sleep." 

"A nightmare?"

Magnus shook his head. "A restless memory."

The concern in Alec's blue eyes made him want to tell the boy his story, bur his tongue remained still. He wasn't ready to share such information just yet. 

Alec, knowing Magnus wasn't going to elaborate, got up to dress. "I need to go, but I'll see you tonight."

"I'll wait up."

"You don't have too."

"Alexander," he spoke the name with a smile, "I shall be awake when you return."

He would always wait up for the boy, for Alexander Lightwood was the one person that truly accepted him and seemed to bring some peace back into Magnus' life. He would keep the boy in his life for as long as he possibly could.


End file.
